The surreal shadows are leaving me…
They are revealing themselves with their dissipation.
I have found,
they are my sanity…
my nostalgia…
my tunes of echoes…
There are so many new ways to fuck…there are so many ways to forget…there are so many ways to forgive,
but I am still caught in my way of becoming a potential loser.
The roads are guitar,
the music is the towns that don’t know my past,
the words are those travelers who passed with a smile…
Art is the killer who kills slowly like a cold, tensile blade.
The importance and the pretensions are different…one makes you an emissary and other; a setting prisoner.

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Photograph: Joseph Westrupp.